Ivalié sat in the grand library which joined Haketh to every universe beyond. He flipped a page in the book he was reading, then another. After a long minute, he flipped to the next.

Ithlo’vatis was leaned against the chair across from him, dissecting the information which Ivalié intook.

“You should sit,” said the mage, neglecting to look up.

“Why?”

“Don't you get tired? We'll be here a while.”

Ithlo reluctantly pulled out the chair and sat. “I know all of this already.”

“But I don't.” He licked his finger, turned another page.

“This is God Theory, a small part of the Hierarchy of Fates — the Hierarchy of Fates dictates that all actions are preordained to happen in a certain order dictated by the god presiding over a ring. For our ring, it would be Azafel, then an unnamed god, then the deity simply called God.”

Ivalié dropped the book limp with a scornful gaze. “One doesn't have a name? That explains why this book is confusing me… Nobody once thought to name him?”

“The common view is that the middle god does not exist, that Azafel and Evra are the only deities, followed by the belief that God is the next step in the ladder. Algirak heralded this belief, hence why he sought the plane called Hell which should belong to the outer deity named God. With the scarcity of belief in the middle god, none have ever dubbed him a name common enough to become fact.”

“Oh?” Ivalié sat back, crossed his arms. The book flipped shut as though running to hiding. “Algirak didn't believe in this ‘middle god’, then?”

Ithlo didn't react to his mocking tone. “No, though he did believe in parallel gods to the one we would call God. Algirak believed that the, as he called them, adjacent gods, were numbered in the billions, each who had created and indulged their own worlds. The same way authors in our planes brandish their stories. The same way there are parallel worlds to our own, inaccessible to Etherians. Had he succeeded, he would have been capable of venturing to those other middle-god designed worlds.”

“Middle and adjacent gods aside — I'm more curious as to what the word fate means in these contexts. Our actions are not truly guided by a deity as passive as Azafel, are they?”

“They are. In part. Arbiters keep the balance when fate seems insurmountable, pawns like Llestren'vatis who are sent by Evra to keep reality in check.”

Ivalié lifted his brows. “...Really?”

The Etherian nodded. “We do have free will, yes, but there are moments when the coincidences pile up… Have you ever noticed? How many coincidences have you noticed today?”

He began with great reluctance: “...I count three. There was that story which Liara told me about the Hunters, about the Silver Sword… Akvum told me the same story.

Then there was that apple — do you remember, I purchased an apple this morning? Rykaedi mentioned an apple… something about poisoning it, something about a fairytale Algirak used to retell… about a sleeping princess, if I'm not mistaken. I thought that odd, but did consider that she may have been spying on me.

The last one, of course…”

He looked at the cover of the book, book IV of an author named A. Lié.

“...I thought it was a clever way to say that this book was a load of nonsense… But at the same time…”

“When the coincidences pile up, it means that the hierarchy is in effect.”

“In other words, something dire is about to happen.”

“Perhaps.”

Ivalié stretched his neck before he stood, then pulled his staff up from beside the chair. “Come, then. Is three a lot?”

Ithlo stood, rounded the table, fell into step with Ivalié. He said, “It can be.”

“Then we'll want to get to Haketh, mayhaps keep an eye out. We won't warn the others just yet — I'd like to keep our cards close to the chest if possible.”

And Ithlo’vatis nodded.

X

Haketh was full that day. Skalla, Kogar, Vekzul, Throkos, Hemah, and Okella were all in attendance, all staring up at the plain black wall Kogar usually stood before as he addressed the chamber. They were all silent while that scene played out, a scene illuminated by the Eye of Tartys, a small blue orb appearing like an eyeball which hovered behind the floating image — an orb which indicated that Tartys, too, was in attendance.

That left only Rykaedi, Jirtu, Akvum and Vladius out, the one who had been slain not so long ago by Cedric Castelbre as he cut through the Vehk mountain range on his way to Harth in an attempt to murder Rykaedi. And now… it appeared that he'd found her.

“What's Tartys projecting?” Ivalié asked as he entered, Ithlo’vatis at his side.

Kogar glared at him before turning his attention back to the scene. “That boy who killed Vladius, one of the members of the Kylinstrom Project. He's in Rykaedi's chamber. He's made it to Harth after all.”

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“Hmm,” mused Skalla with no implied interest. Yet she watched on. They all did.

“Should we intervene?” asked Throkos.

“No,” came Kogar's command. “Akvum and Rykaedi are both there. They'll have no trouble with a worm like him.”

Hemah nodded, cracked a slight golden smirk from beneath her helmet.

They watched as Rykaedi flew in her draconic form, swept through the massive obsidian palace with a cackle, slammed herself against the boy Cedric again and again, clawed him, chewed him, threw him around like a plaything.

“It's almost over,” said Kogar as he stood. “There's no more sense in watching. Tartys—”

Ivalié interrupted, “Wait. Wait, I know her — Faunia Vleren! How did she… why did she…!?”

They watched as the Silver Sword threw herself at Rykaedi, encased in a suit of ice. She had her own Etherian.

But Akvum should have Serkukan now, Akvum should…

Ivalié's eyes widened as he saw the boy Cedric strike back against Rykaedi with an impressive, massive blade. A crimson blade, a blade formed of blood.

Serkukan! The boy has him!

He shuddered in a breath. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand. His hands became slick with sweat. “Kogar… Kogar, we have to intervene.”

Kogar turned in dismay, raised an eyebrow.

“Kogar, this is wrong. We have to stop them, something bad is—”

The vision projected by Tartys suddenly shifted over. Akvum. He limped forward, the black blade Grivonym in his hand. His fur was matted with blood.

But a sinister grin waxed over his tired, stiff face as he raised his offhand aloft.

And that hand glowed in every Etherian color.

“Kogar!” Ivalié shouted.

And everyone reacted all at once:

Kogar warped into the abyss.

Hemah launched her seat to the floor as she leapt into the rift after him.

The eye of Tartys stopped projecting, fell limp and shattered.

Vekzul blinked instantly away.

Okella hugged her knees up to her chest and began to cry.

Ivalié stumbled back. “We did everything in our power to prevent this… Akvum was not meant to get this far… We sentenced him to death! After his assistant died, we exiled him! How is he…”

Ithlo’vatis stared at him knowingly.

Ivalié looked at his shaking hand. “Fate… The Arbiters… it's all true?”

“Should we go?”

“...No. No. It's too late, then, if what you say is true. Nothing will stop Akvum. Nothing will stop him from rejoining the continents. The Kylinstrom Project… he never agreed with it. He never wanted to enslave a whole continent for the sake of knowledge… And now we'll likely never know the secrets of our world we wished to…” His eyes darted suspiciously over to Ithlo’vatis. A sinister grin began to form upon his lips. “What am I saying? I've got all of the world's answers right here, in Truth.”

“That's correct, Ivalié,” said Ithlo’vatis.

A dull chuckle thudded in Ivalié's throat. Then they both turned their backs to the chamber, and quietly, peacefully, made their retreat…

"That's correct. I know all of Truth. And soon, your mind will follow..."

Ithlo’vatis thought of it as he soared through the sky like a spear, exited the atmosphere, left Caloria’s gravity behind and entered Tartys’ own.

The eye shifted slightly, rotated to witness the spear of Ithlo'vatis as he slowed to a careful, precise halt.

Five-hundred meters.

Ithlo was humanoid again. Tartys was still that great big moon.

“You're going to fight me?” rumbled the moon, incomprehensible to those on the planet below.

“Yes.”

The eye shifted away, looked at the planet. It asked, “Are you going to win?”

“Yes.”

And Truth showed Ithlo the next vision — the beam of destruction that would pierce a hole through Calamon before he could react, rip through the Jinn on the other side of the world, explode the planet's core and send them spiralling into nothingness…

Beyond that, Ithlo’vatis did not hesitate. He threw himself at the bulging veins within the moon’s surface, punctured them with his immense speed, let spray the dark Etherian esera like blood into space.

The amber color began to drain from Tartys. He did not complain. He did not ask why. He knew why.

When Ithlo’vatis had finished with the veins, he floated backward. The iris centered on him again.

“Are you finished?” asked the moon.

“Yes. That's enough to give you a swift collapse. You shouldn't feel anything.”

“...Mercy? For a deity which feels nothing? Why?”

Ithlo’vatis stiffened up. He could still smell that flowery scent which lingered always on Faunia, he could still feel the compassion, the horrible generosity within every fiber of her mind.

Ithlo smiled slightly. It was warm, though his skin was cold. It was polite, though his voice was harsh. He only said, “Because you are alive.”

And the moon began to drift backward imperceptibly, began to fade into nothingness, into black abyss. The stars soon would be restored over Calamon.

And Ithlo turned back to the blue-green planet with that same smile. “It's over. I'm on my way home, Faunia.”

…bbbbbzzzzzzzTTTttt…

A dense buzzing cut through the silence of space like an arrow whizzing for its target. His mouth fell agape. His lips formed out words transplanted voicelessly into his mind.

“Traitors…”

“...must…

“...die.”

And Ithlo’vatis’ body floated limply upward, away into vacant space…